“Anders.”
“Like Andy?”
“No, like Anders.”
She smiles at my irritation and sways in my direction. “You’ve got a lot of hair,” she says and reaches out to touch my beard. “You’re a blond bear.”
There’s something innocent about her behavior. Women usually flirt hardcore with me or act as if I’m a horrifying monster. Well, some ignore me. I’ve never had one act as if I’m an animal she wants to pet.
“What’s your name?” I ask softer as she circles me.
“Pixie Yabo.”
“That’s a pretty name.”
“My mom’s a pretty woman. She names the trees after spirit nymphs.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Neither do I,” she says and teases the stitching on my Executioners vest.
“How old are you?”
“I don’t know. How old are you?”
“Thirty-three.”
“Is that a good age?”
“Sure.”
Pixie smiles big and tugs at the seam of my white T-shirt. “How come you stopped riding your rumbling bicycle? Are you going to kidnap me?”
“Are you a kid?”
“Everyone is someone’s kid.”
“I guess,” I say as she circles me faster. “I didn’t know what you were doing.”
“What do you care?”
“I want to keep Elko safe.”
“From me?”
“For you.”
“Who’s gonna be unsafe?” Pixie asks, looking around in an exaggerated way. “I don’t see anything nefarious. Just you.”
“Do you think I’m a bad guy?”
“You’re very tall.”
“Does that mean I’m bad?”
“I don’t know. How come you stopped?”
“I don’t know.”
“I like your beard,” she says and runs her fingers over my jaw. “You’re so tall. I can’t stretch high enough to rub the peak of you, mountain man.”
I don’t know why, but I lean down so she can touch the top of my head. Pixie strokes my thick blond hair and then slides her finger down my nose.
All right, fine. I know exactly why I lean down. I like when Pixie touches me. Her behavior isn’t sexual. Pixie’s a curious kid but also so pretty that I can’t take my eyes off her.
I never think of touching her, though. There’s something very wrong about my big hands getting anywhere near this walking, talking flower. That’s what she is. The way she sways is like one of those flowers in the garden, bracing itself against a heavy wind.
I stay another twenty minutes while Pixie dances around and asks questions about boots and then touches my beard again. I would have been happy to stay for hours, but she hears a noise in the woods and walks off. I feel discarded by how she doesn’t say goodbye. Then she looks back and waves. Pixie Yabo’s smile offers me a new addiction.
I need to see her again. I come back the next day and then the next. I drive past that spot several times a day, always hoping to see my flower child again. I start to wonder if I imagined the entire thing. I used to hallucinate when I was high. Can the mind dream up shit without drugs?
But then, one day, I find Pixie sitting in the grass, and I enjoy another fix. She asks about the scary face on my vest while sitting behind where I’ve plopped my ass. Pixie braids my shoulder-length hair while telling me how her mama is the most beautiful woman in the world, and her little brother is the most beautiful boy, and her sister is the most beautiful girl, and her papa was the most beautiful man.
“But he died,” she says, sitting next to me and taking my hand. “You are such a big man. How come you got so large? Did you eat magic beans?”
“My dad was big.”
“My papa was a normal-sized man,” she says and touches her chest. “The bullet killed his heart.”
That’s when I let myself touch her. Pixie stares up at the sunny sky as tears fill her big brown eyes. I take her thin hand in mine and try to comfort her.
“I’m sorry about your papa,” I say, feeling dumb. I’ve never been any good at getting close to anyone. The people who should have loved me didn’t. That’s why being here with Pixie is a mistake. Well, that, and if Bronco or the club guys find out, they’ll kick my ass. Despite knowing better, I can’t leave her.
“I’m sorry you have sad eyes,” she says and rests my hand on her chest. “You’re special, Anders. You are a ray of sunshine in a world of darkness. You are sad because the story this time is filled with pain. Not every version includes so much sadness. I’m sorry this one does.”
Pixie explains how she wasn’t always a member of the Volkshalberd. Before her papa died, she lived in something called the Dandelion Collective.
“We are all weeds,” she says while digging her toes into the dirt. “Alone, we are a nuisance. Together, we are a garden.”
I don’t really understand that part, but she goes on to say how her other cult believed in alternative universes.
“In every version of this world, our stories are written a little different. Each choice changes our path. In this world, you are filled with sadness. In another world, your heart is filled with joy.”
“But how does knowing that help me in this world?”
“You get to live all the lives, Anders,” she says and rests on her back. “You live forever. My papa lives in another world now.”
“How did your papa die?”
“A government man in black with a mask and the letters ‘ATF’ on his jacket shot Papa for holding an artichoke.”
“Why?”
Pixie stretches her long, lean legs and stares up at me. I’ve quickly learned how she doesn’t answer questions that bother her.
“I’m sorry he died,” I say, terrible at picking the right words.
Pixie takes my hand and studies my fingers. I’m entranced by her calm demeanor, yet freaked out by how she doesn’t fear me. We’re alone in an isolated area. I’m a huge guy, and she’s scrawny as fuck. I could rape and murder her without a single concern about getting caught. Pixie ought to be wary of me, but she relaxes in the warm afternoon and touches me without fear.
Though we don’t talk much more that day, I still hate leaving her. We only separate when she hears a horn in the distance. Again, she looks back and waves before disappearing into the woods. I wish I asked Pixie when she would be back.
But I didn’t, so I drive by that road three times a day for a week before we’re together again. This time, I bring her a treat. She braids my hair and tells me that I’m beautiful and special. She hugs me from behind and insists I’m a ray of sunshine. Then she eats the orange and asks me what I did at sunset the night before. Once I start telling her about the movie I watched, she’s riveted.
That becomes our new routine. I ask her to try to meet me every day. Sometimes, she shows. Other times, she can’t.
“I missed you,” Pixie announces when she sees me. “You’re so beautiful.”
I’m not a fool. There are times when I wonder if she only says those things to con me into bringing her stuff. So, I test her. After arriving, I don’t show her the treat, but she still says I’m a ray of sunshine and braids my hair.